How it Goes
by taemin
Summary: Life isn't always as forgiving as we'd like it to be. Rose Tyler dreams. RoseNine, RoseJack, RoseTen, RoseReality. In four parts.


A/N: Written to keep myself from going batshit insane during finals. Also borne out of a Doomsday depression I found myself in after watching the finale. Meh.

Title: How it Goes  
Pairing: Rose/Nine, Rose/Ten, Rose/Jack  
Rating: T  
Notes: The first three parts are Rose's imagining of how, in some perfect world, she could be with the man she loves again. The last one is what will happen in reality.

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I 

This is how it goes.

Rose'll walking down the streets of London, tiny little shop girl with the wide-eyed innocence and the sketchy-nervous smile, ignored by all except the ones looking. And sort of daydreaming, you know, watching the moonlit clouds and staring at all the pretty little sunhats in the windows that she won't be able to afford until she's eighty-two and it won't do her much good. And what no one notices is that sharp little glint in her eyes and that deft little twist of her fingers and what no one, not even Rose notices, is the way the cell-phone deep in her purse lights up, and a six letter word parades across the screen. But she doesn't notice it, too deep in her fantasy world of telephone boxes and arrogant bisexual space pirates, and the ones watching her can't see it, but they wouldn't know what it means, anyway.

And so maybe she'll be she'll have her head so high in the clouds that she takes a wrong turn and winds up on some darkly lit side street, and she's whirling and twirling about now in a kind of nervous haze (because she's a poor little shop girl and she's alone at night on the streets of London) and she can't find the way back now, and the blood begins to rush in her ears and oh, god, please, _anywhere_ but here.

And maybe she'll hear something in the alleyway, then. Footsteps, perhaps, loud clunking footsteps and a sort of heavy breathing, and that descending dread because it _could_ be nothing, but dear god, what if it is?

And she'll want to run, and she'll want to scream, but she can't, god, she can't. The police can't help her, because oh, dear, miss, terribly sorry, but it's all over now. Some identification, please; sorry, standard procedure. Say, what's this in your wallet? Torchwood Institute? What in the world? and she's upgraded to ma'am with a steely sort of suspicion and it all crumbles down at her feet.

So she can't scream.

And she's stuck there, against the wall, with the shadows drawing closer and the knowledge that it's over, it's over, he'll never come back tingling in her skin. And so she'll close her eyes, and he'll clench her hands, and with a fond sort of heartbreak she'll bid her love farewell.

But then (oh, god, then) it'll come, that sound of rusting time and shifting gears and oh, god, there's that weathered blue police box, and oh, god, the door is opening, and it's him, the old him, with the peach fuzz salt pepper hair and the floppy ears and the infectious rubber smile and it'll all break down then, she'll be in his arms and he'll lift her up and the only thing left of the thief in the night will be the fading sound of running feet. And he'll take her away in his big blue box and this time, this time it'll be forever.

This is how it goes.

II

This is how it goes.

It's her wedding day, and she's marrying Ricky. (For legal purposes he's Ricky now, and they both smile painfully when they try to forget.) For a long time he didn't want to, saying it would be loveless, sighing when she promised she would make herself love him, but finally giving in. They don't want children (not sure what the TARDIS did to them) but they'll live together in the little house by Bad Wolf Bay where a lifetime ago, Rose Tyler died.

And they've promised each other they wouldn't cry, but it's hard not to, standing outside the chapel with the pink flowers and the pink earrings and the fairytale dress, and Jackie's hovering all around and Pete's breathing hard (he's not done this before) and there is Rose Tyler, small small Rose Tyler, clutching the purse with the glasses inside.

(She wonders why it's so hard to let go.)

"Starting soon," says Pete, straightening his tie in a most businessman like way. "Ready, dear?" He doesn't look at her, and she doesn't answer. Finding no solace, he wanders over to the buffet.

She promised she wouldn't cry.

And it's not the fact that by doing this she's leaving him behind that makes her eyes burn. Because it's not _him _she cries herself to sleep over. It's not the Oxford boy with the pinstripe suit that haunts her dreams. It's a spaceship captain from the future that oh, god, Rose Tyler has fallen in love with.

And the organ music starts and Pete's at her side and Jackie whispers go, go! and suddenly she's walking.

And it's a blur from there, the walk and the vows and the cracking face before her, the only thing whole his bright shining eyes. And it shocks her, a thought that chills her bones—maybe she could do this.

"I do," says Ricky.

And it's her turn now, and she's somehow overcome and looks to her mother, but her eyes is caught suddenly by a brown-haired man sitting in the front row, smiling very slightly. It's a condescending smile, and it's a smirking smile, and it's a loving smile, and in a rush she knows him as the man she will always, always love.

And so she turns to the priest, and she whispers 'I do', and this is how it goes.

III

This is how it goes.

She'll be down at the beach one day. It'll be cold and wet and oh, god, she hates it, this place that stole her heart away. And yet somehow, with a maniacal sense of obsession, she's drawn back and back and back here, back to the place where she died.

And one day she's sitting there on a rock, watching the surf slowly destroy her footsteps, and she wonders if it would be any better if she just disappeared. She stares out at the storming sea (hours earlier the weatherman told all citizens to please for their safety stay indoors, but she doesn't hear him anymore) and wonders how quick it would be if she just tossed herself in and let herself slowly, slowly sink to the bottom. Maybe it'll be easier for everyone else, without her playing the spurned lover all the time. She knows that she mopes around, and she knows that she doesn't smile anymore, and she knows that she should be happy: she runs Torchwood, she has the most wonderful husband in the world, and she's surrounded by loved ones at all times. And yet she can't find it in herself to take any joy in the world around her. It's not her world, and it's not her people, and he's not here. He can never come here.

And so Rose Tyler stares at the water, and she wonders if she should end her life.

"Please don't."

She'll ignore the voice, because it comes far too often these days. She learned a long time ago that it's not him, it's just her mind, trying to convince itself that oh, god, he's come back, he's here. And so she stares at the sea, and she curses her brain, and she decides that maybe she will.

"Really, Rose, don't."

She smiles. "Why?" (And maybe in another world she would've thought that talking to herself wasn't exactly the greatest show of sanity, but she isn't in another world and she's all alone and frankly, she stopped caring a long time ago.)

"Because. You have so much to live for. You have Mickey, you have Jackie, you have Pete, you have the baby, Torchwood… Rose Tyler, you have _everything_ to live for."

"I don't have him." Her voice is strangely hoarse, and she wonders if the wetness on her cheeks is her tears or the rain.

There's a silence, as if her mind is thinking. When it finally replies, it's oddly quiet. "Is he really that important? Do you love him so much that you would do it, would kill yourself for him?"

She wheels around, forgetting herself. "Yes!" she screeches, and it hangs in the air as she realizes… It's him, her Doctor.

Her heart freezes, and her eyes widen, and she stops moving. Everything stops, it's as if time itself has frozen. The only thing that remains is him, staring down at his feet as if he's ashamed to be here.

"Hello, Rose."

She manages to swallow. "How?" she gasps. Her brain isn't working, her arms aren't moving, she isn't sure if she wants to run to him or fall down dead.

He shrugs. "Magic."

And then it just kind of falls apart, in that way it always does. And he's kissing her and she's melting into him and it's not that she's unfaithful, it's just that it's here, it's him, and she can't help but wonder if maybe, maybe this time it'll be forever.

This is how it goes.

IV

This is how it goes.

Rose Tyler fades. She has children. She takes over Torchwood from Pete. She does crosswords every morning and has a flowerbed where she grows sunflowers. On Sundays she and Mickey take a five hour hike by the sea shore. She watches the bay, praying for something.

And it ends, one day. She's lying in bed, the window open and the soft sea breeze blowing in from Bad Wolf Bay. The walls are plastered with computer printouts, pictures of a tall man in a pinstripe suit, of telephone boxes and alien creatures. A wicker chair sits ever so perfect in the corner, and on the dresser are lined up neat little pictures; Mickey and their children, Sarah Jane and Adam; Jackie and Pete; the members of Torchwood, unsmiling and stiff.

And there in the bed lies dying Rose Tyler.

Her skin is wrinkled and her eyes are fading and her breath comes in rattling short gasps. She lies upon the bed, covers up to her chin as she shakes in an imagined chill.

She's all alone now.

She knows that she's dying. She knows that it's over, it's over, he'll never come. There's this futile little wish, though, a tiny seed of hope in the back of her mind that prays with that feverish intensity that he comes. It's this perfect dream that she's created, that although she's old and shriveled and lying on her deathbed, he will come for her. He will make her beautiful, and he will whisk her away to a life of beauty and adventure, just like it was before.

It doesn't happen.

Rose Tyler dies alone. The last short sharp intake of breath hangs over the room for a moment, then… silence.

In a perfect world, she would've mused, that all would've happened. There would've been music and lights and beauty and joy and he would've loved her and taken her and they'd be together forever. There would've been adventure and joy and life and none of them would've changed, in a perpetual state of youth and love. They would've been together forever, andnothing, not even time itself, could've stopped it.

But it didn't, and it's somehow so right that it didn't, and maybe that's why, as she lies on her deathbed, there's that tiny little smile on Rose Tyler's face.

This is how it goes.

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